I reluctantly park my car in the lot outside work and drag my feet to the elevator. When it dings, announcing my arrival to my floor, I walk onto the hard carpet with heavy steps.
“Mr. Sheridan wants to see you.” Olive’s emotionless face is focused on the computer screen in front of her, but I hear her message from Mr. Sheridan loud and clear.
“Yep.” I was expecting it the second I woke up. Dreading it. And by Olive’s cheerless face, I can almost sense what I’m going to walk into.
I knock on Mr. Sheridan’s door. It’s like I’m standing at the doorway to hell. I wish I could fast-forward this. Whatever uncomfortable encounter I’m about to face, I wish I could just remove myself from it and come back when it’s all said and done. And then a thought dawns on me. Is he going to fire me? Surely he can’t. I didn’t break any company rules, and Grace isn’t some commodity Mr. Sheridan can use to dangle my job in front of him.
“Come in.”
I open the door, my steps reluctant and moving with obligation rather than inclination. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
He looks up from his phone wedged between his hands and when he sees who’s at his door, an evil grin stretches across his face. “Andrew,” he calls with derisive intent. “Have a seat.” Hesets down his phone and stands from his seat, rounding his large desk to welcome me into the span of his office.
I do as he offers, though if it were up to me, I’d rather stand where I don’t have to look up at him. But something tells me that’s his intention. To be able to hover over me while he says what he wants to say.
“Friday night was interesting.” I don’t know how to interpret his words. If he’s trying to be friendly, make conversation as a way to break the awkward tension between us. Or if he’s baiting me into something that’s more contentious.
“It was,” I answer, hoping I sound as neutral as possible.
“You and Grace,” he adds, leaning against the edge of his desk. “That’s pretty interesting too. How long has that been going on?”
“Not long,” I tell him. “Few months.”
He nods, and his lips do that downward, smug smile that makes me want to slap it right off his face. Like he’s running through all the ways he outdoes me when it comes to Grace. Whether it’s their past or that I don’t hold a candle to what he might still mean to her.
“Oh, so it isn’t serious. That makes sense.” His words have an underlying meaning to them, and I can almost feel it coming.
“How so?” I ask, taking the bait I know better not to. Grace would want me to be the bigger person here. She’d want me to walk away and remember this is exactly what he wants.
“Well, you just don’t seem to be her type,” he tells me, as if he knows what Grace likes. “My wife?—”
“Ex-wife.” My interruption wipes off the arrogant smirk on his face, and his eyes narrow.
“Anyway, Grace prefers her men to be…established. More esteemed,” he tells me. He looks at me, faux sympathy in the half-assed shrug moving his shoulders up and down, and adds,“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, he looks absolutely thrilled to be passing along this bit of false information to me.
“No need for an apology,” I tell him, my voice carrying the same contempt he tried so hard to deliver with a metaphorical punch to my stomach. “And I know you haven’t seen Grace for a while, but I don’t think you know her as well as you think.”
He crosses his arms. “Is that so?”
I stand from my seat, sick of having to crane my neck to look at him. He leans his head back as I say, “I think she might’ve outgrown you.”
He gapes up at me, shock and insult apparent in the way he scowls and his nostrils flare.
“Now, if it’s okay with you,” I tell him when I’m met with more silence, “I’d like to get to work. Unless you have a bag of Skittles you want me to sort.”
I turn to walk away, ready to leave this mess behind me and get to work. To do my fucking job and not let Mr. Sheridan—or Frankie—tarnish any more of my day.
I’m almost to the closed door when he adds, “You know, I don’t think you’re completely correct,” he says. “because the way she used to let me fuck her isn’t something she’d grow out of.”
My vision turns red. Blood and fire edge their way to my murky brain, and I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my fucking chest. I turn on my feet, and I barrel toward him. I have one hand on his collar and the other reared back to land a heavy punch to his face. And another. I’ve gotten in three punches before he fights back, getting right at my side. I cower, and he manages to smack his palm into my ear, making it ring. I stumble back, the blow more than I was prepared for.
He pushes me back, making both of us fall to the ground. We take things down with us. Binders, office supplies, a chair along with its contents. Loud thumps and grunts fill the room. Imanage to roll him over on his back and land more punches, just as Olive rushes into the room.
“Oh my god,” I hear her gasp. More people enter the room, and I feel a set of hands pull my shoulders back. Another person grabs Mr. Sheridan, and with the much-needed space between us, I finally see the blood trickle out of his nose along with the fresh bruise blooming just above his cheek.
“Get the fuck out!” he roars. “You are so fucking done here! Get your shit and leave.”
I shake the hand on my shoulder off. When I look over, I see that it’s Craig. I offer him a look of apology, to which he nods grimly. I stand, wiping my mouth only to see my own trail of blood smeared across the back of my hand.
